The Price of Life
by Almadynis Rayne
Summary: At the beginning of Arda, the Valar had to bargain with Death to extend the life of the Elves. Everything has a price. Untold eons later, Harry Potter, now down with his part in the war, comes to realize what being Death's Master means and despairs. As he tries to take his own life, Death's bargain with the Valar takes effect. elfling!Harry
1. Chapter 1

**The Price of Life**

**Chapter 01: Prologue**

Almadynis

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**Long, long, long, long ago…**

Death sat on his throne of bones and just stared at the group of fourteen beings before him. They were asking for what many before had asked, bargained, and tried to take: immortality. Not for them, for they were wise enough to realize that Death was inevitable for all, but for their creations. While noble, he was already shaking his head before they had finished the request. "No."

Their leader, Manwe, began to become visibly angry. "We have never asked you of anything! Why will you not grant us this one boon?!"

"Death comes to all," he replied simply, no emotion evident in his voice.

Varda, the main female of the group, placed a calming hand on her husband's shoulder before looking at the shrouded figure on a throne of bones. Shadow eclipsed Death in every way, no light shining except for two points of bright blue that glowed from where eyes should be. The Death before them was a personification of a Universal Law. As direct creations of Eru, they were allowed to change most things, but this was not within their power and so they had to ask. Thus, the universe gave them a piece of itself to interact with. It was an interesting time…she could not imagine how Death must feel, since before they decided to ask this of the universe, he hadn't even existed—his personification hadn't existed, Death itself was forever and had begun as soon as life began. "Arda needs a people to govern, protect, and nurture it. The best way for this to occur is by Awakening a race, but without a long lifespan the Awakening would be pointless. The race would not have enough time to learn what they needed to within their lifetime."

They all could see that nothing said thus far had moved the being. Nienna, the Lady of Mercy, tried another tactic. "Perhaps not true immortality, but just a prolonged life? Please, Arda would benefit much from this."

Death got to his feet and seemed to glide across the black marble floor. He went to a black marble basin with silver swirls running across and through the stone that the Valar had not noticed before, or had not yet existed until Death needed it. Death's hand, both old and young at the same time and never staying constant, came to the surface of the basin and ran a finger across the clear liquid inside, creating swirls, shadows, and a soft fog. As the fog spread out, images flickered across for the fourteen supplicants to see.

Death spoke as the images flickered, "Death comes for all." Children, old, soldiers, animals, trees, all dying in the fog before their eyes. "But the time for Death to arrive can be negotiated." Forests of trees in lush green waves, with a few scattered bare of anything. "Everything has a price. You wish to upset the balance of your Arda with your request." Whole worlds burned in that basin, terrible and cold and dark of all life. "Something must be lost to maintain the balance."

Nienna nodded obediently. Since she had been the only one of the group to get a positive, even if it was only slightly positive, response from the being, she kept going. "Of course. What would be the price for the elves current lifespan to be prolonged to 100 times?"

The dark cowl turned and piercing glowing blue dots cornered her, seemingly looking into her very soul. "Life for life. As Man's shortened life allows them a short gestation for offspring. Balance is maintained. If you wish these Elves to life 100 times longer than the Universe intended, the balance will require 100 times less children to be born. Those Elves alive will be living the lives of the unborn." So simple, but such a drastic choice.

The Lady of Mercy, by Eru's design, was passionate about the innocent, and there were none more innocent than children. She looked helplessly at her brethren is askance. Her very nature would be against making this decision. She could not. She would not.

Manwe understood immediately what the problem was and gave her a smile and nod to show it. Nienna stepped back instantly and he drew forward once again. Calm now that negotiations had begun and were going his way. "Understood. We accept."

Death's head nodded and he waved his hand over the basin again and images of the Elves of Arda resolved, solidified, and focused. A single finger brushed the surface to make a small ripple in the liquid. "It is done."

They moved to leave when Death's voice came again. "The price of the Elves lives has been paid. My price has not."

Manwe froze and slowly turned to face him. "Your price?"

"If you had not asked such of the Universe, I would not exist as anything but a Force of the Universe. I would not have to endure the screams, begging, anger, and _life_ as I Work. I would simply _be_, without a consciousness. Your desire has forced me into an existence not designed to be felt, seen, or experienced in any way." Death explained in an emotionless tone that made them all flinch slightly. "_My_ price for this forced creation is one boon."

The King of the Valar nodded hesitantly, but firmly. "Agreed. What is this boon?" It was after all, very fair.

Death turned back to the basin and the images changed once again, the race of Man, but not of Arda, floating past in rapid reels. "Death exists at every moment of every world. There will come a time, not yet come to pass, where Death itself will have a Master: a child of Fate and Destiny. When his time is done he will have the burden of living as I cannot take my Master." The image of a child with wavy black hair and piercing almost-glowing bright new-leaf green eyes resolved. "Death is not cruel, but his burden will be." Those pinpricks of blue focused again on Manwe. "You will take him to Arda and give him a life worth the strain of Mastering Death. That is my price."

Once again, it was a simple decision, easily made for the King. "Agreed."

* * *

_This is my first Lord of the Rings, or Harry Potter fanfic, let alone a crossover. But this idea would not stop bugging me. I had to write it down. _

_Tell me what you think! Should I even bother keeping it going?_

_Reviews are love!_


	2. Chapter 2

**The Price of**** Life**

**Chapter 02: Watching and Waiting**

Almadynis

**AN:** Okay, I have NEVER seen such a response to one of my stories. 12 Reviews in less than 6 hours with 39 follows and 17 favs. OMG! So, to celebrate, I gave a -admittedly small- update before I go to bed.

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**Many, many, many, many years later…**

Lord Harry James Potter-Black stared in the mirror and sighed. He looked at his lovely wife, still peacefully asleep in their bed, then back at the mirror. The difference was obvious. He was thirty years old, his wife was twenty-nine—or twenty-five for four years, if you asked her—and while his beautiful Ginny had been getting the odd gray hair for some while, he still looked exactly as he had at seventeen. Physically, he hadn't aged at all.

With a soft sigh and a pull of his cloak, he was off down the hall of Potter Manor. He had work to do.

With a swirl of the Ouchless Blood Quill—all the magic of signing in blood with none of that pesky pain or possibility of scarring—the Last Will and Testament of Lord Potter-Black was updated. Ironically, it wasn't that hard to sign over everything you own in the eventuality of your demise. Harry kept his updated every six months or so, what with all the Death Eaters, children of Death Eaters, and those he had put away as an Auror still occasionally coming after him.

"Everything is in order, Lord Potter." The Potter—and Black since Sirius had named Harry the Black heir—Family goblin, growled between sharp teeth. He stacked the papers swiftly before tucking them away to be filed and duplicated.

Harry nodded wearily and got to his feet. "Efficient as always, Bloodax." He knew goblins prided themselves on efficiency, so commented on it whenever he did business. Goblins definitely did not have a wizard's culture. Which was why Harry simply turned and showed himself out of the office without another word. It wasn't rude for a goblin…and Harry was so tired lately that even the 'common' niceties were becoming tedious.

* * *

Harry was so tired. Not physically, for he had the body of a seventeen year old; no he was mentally and emotionally exhausted. A glass of firewhiskey caught the light of the fire to make designs in the liquid. There was a time when he could appreciate the taste, the smell, and the look of a good aged firewhiskey. Not anymore. He was so tired.

Forty years old today.

Hermione, Ron, their children, his own grown children along with grandchildren, had all come to visit Harry and Ginny that afternoon. Hermione was speckled gray with laugh lines around her eyes as she held Ron, who had started to lose his Quidditch-trim figure some twenty years earlier, closely. Looking at all of those faces, old and young, he once again felt it. That bone-deep exhaustion.

Ginny went to bed early these days, delighting in the feel of her bed as she read into the night before sleeping. There was a time when Harry would join her, in the beginning for a romp between the sheets and later to companionably read beside her. Not anymore.

He took another swallow of firewhiskey, barely noticing the burn as he stared into the red-orange flames in contemplation. An idea had been haunting the edges of his thoughts for years, and today it had forced itself to the forefront of his mind.

_I will have to watch them die._

Over and over, that single thought swam through.

He was so tired.

* * *

Death watched his master through a black and silver marbled basin of fog. He watched and waited. Death was patient. He knew he wouldn't have to wait much longer.

* * *

Death nodded. It was time.

Lord Harry James Potter-Black lay back against a tree root, gazing unseeing at a clear blue sky. The forest around him was singing in harmony with the beautiful day, but he did not hear it.

A figure appeared next to the seemingly seventeen year old boy. It—for it was difficult to tell if the figure was male or female—was swathed in a full-length black cloak that hid every part of its body perfectly. A hand came out of a sleeve, neither old nor young in the skin's appearance, and brushed the silken midnight waves of hair from Harry's head. There was no accusation in posture or gesture, only gentle, sad understanding.

The hand came down to touch a shoulder and both bodies vanished as if they had never been.

* * *

Death, between one breath and the next, found himself and his master in Aman, the dwellingplace of the Valar. Known most commonly as Valinor, Death's very presence was not wanted here, nor needed really. Another bargain with the Valar had seen to that.

Almost instantly, Death was surrounded by fourteen individuals. Glowing blue pinpoints of light simply stared at the group and his emotionless voice was easily heard in the silence of their arrival. "My price." And vanished again, leaving behind a not-quite dead body.

* * *

The Valar looked down at the Man that lay on their hall floor. They saw not the physical, but the soul. Each of them saw a whole but focused on a piece, as to their nature. Nienna shook her head in sadness at the childhood the young one had lived. Mandos, the Judge of the Dead, nodded at the boy's fairness. Only Manwe was able to both see the whole if the child and take it fully in. Overall, the boy was a good man with only a few occasions to weigh down his soul.

They all knew what would happen if they had denied Death his price. They had decided eons ago that they would not…but the manner in which they fulfilled their part of the bargain would depend on Death's Master. What they saw made their choice even easier.

Lorien, the Master of Dreams, read into the boy's heart and fashioned with Vaire a new web of destiny for the child. Orome, Mandos, and Manwe knelt beside the unconscious body and began to weave their own brand of magic with ease of long practice. As the three worked, Harry Potter began to grow younger. His hair became longer and straighter.

When the three were done, Varda stepped forward and gracefully swept her hand over the young boy and his clothes changed to fit his new form and the style of what would soon be his new home. Aule also waved his hand, but no outward changes occurred. With a small smile, his wife Yavanna stepped forward and gently gave the child a kiss on the forehead. Este followed in her sister's footsteps immediately after.

Not all of the Valar could give the boy gifts, but to fulfill their promise made so long ago—and because the man was so worthy—they would do everything in their power to help him in his new home.

When all was done, a small Eldar of barely forty summers lay comatose on the floor of their hall.

Nienna smiled in satisfaction, gathered the child into her arms and vanished.

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_Tell me what you think! _

_You guys give me so many reviews and I will update more often!_

_Reviews are love!_


	3. Chapter 3

**The Price of Life**

**Chapter 3: Meetings**

Almadynis

**AN:** All mistakes are mine, no beta sorry. Sindarin and translations were provided by and .com. I'm still learning, so please don't yell at me if its off.

Thanks so much to all of you who reviewed! It is to you that I dedicate this chapter.

* * *

Harry woke to the odd—and rather tiring—sight of trees. A blink and he noticed that these trees were not the ones he had been under when he had—apparently only tried—to take his own life. But those trees had been evergreens, these were deciduous in their full green splendor of mid-summer.

Sitting up proved to be an odd challenge. The distance between the ground and his arms, legs—his whole body really—was not what he expected. "Man?" He said softly, and then froze. His voice was different too: softer, gentler, and _musical_. With an almost child-like quality he had not heard since his son. Then Harry's brain registered what he had said with what he had _meant_ to say and pulled into overdrive. He knew several languages: English, Parseltongue, Gobbledygook—it had taken awhile to smooth over the Goblins feelings on the whole breaking-in incident, French—courtesy of Fleur, and through Hermione's insistence, Latin. But what he had said was 'man?' with the intention of 'what?' which did not fall into any of those categories.

Before he could begin to analyze further, another musical voice intruded upon his thoughts. "Mae l'ovannen, toleg." His brain had already translated the sentence even as he turned his body inhumanly fast, on his feet and around 180°; 'well met, little prominent one' wasn't exactly the best greeting he'd ever heard, but it wasn't the worst either. His reaction was mostly due to the situation and his surprise that anyone could sneak up on him. Thirty years of being hunted by various wizards, witches, and beings tended to give one excellent reflexes and paranoia.

The woman now in front of him was leaning against a tree trunk with a deceptive air of relaxation. She was wearing a dark grey cloak clasped at her throat with an ivy leaf masterfully crafted in silver and green enamel. Her dress was a lighter grey in a style that would have been at home in the early part of the 16th or 17th centuries: several layers to keep out the cold, cinched at the waist with a leather (again of master-level quality) braided cord, embroidered in silver at the neck, waist, and hemline. Her hair was a beautiful waterfall of liquid gold, two small braids at her temples kept the silver ivy circlet firmly in place even as it emphasized her perfect, delicately pointed ears. Her eyes were a liquid brown that echoed both a deep sadness, pity and endless joy as they seemed to gaze deep into his very soul.

Throughout his inspection of her, she had remained patient and silent, waiting for him. To do what, he didn't quite know, but he hadn't been Gryffindor for nothing. "Suilad, hîril nín." Okay, so it was still in that weird language that he suddenly knew, but the general 'greetings, my lady' his brain assured him was correct. The wary tone was to be expected. By her smile she didn't take offense and was rather pleased instead.

She smiled at him, a look in her eyes he couldn't quite place. "Im Nienna eston." She spread out her hand to encompass the trees around the two of them. "Me min Eryn Lasgalen."

He snorted derisively. Like that was supposed to mean something to him. 'I am called Nienna. We are in Eryn Lasgalen.' Doesn't mean _anything_ to him!

Nienna smiled slightly wider and nodded. Her words became a fluidic flow of words his mind translated instantaneously—apparently the faster she spoke the better he could keep up with her; either that or his mind was becoming more accustomed to the new language. "_You are here because of a debt that my family and I owed to Death. Many eons ago, we bargained with him to increase the lifespan of our chosen race._" She watched as Harry's eyes widened in suspicion, disbelief, and then to sad resignation. "_In return, he wished for his Master to live in Arda. He wanted you to have a life worthy of the demanding duty of being Death's Master. He brought you to us so that we may fulfill our promise._"

Harry was by this time incredibly angry. So many people deciding things for him without consulting his opinion. He had grown out of standing idly by while other planned out his life when he had died at seventeen! He was _not_ going to get back into the habit! "_Send me back! I don't care what you promised that bloody asshole! It's __**my**__ life! Send me __**back**__!_" He was trembling with rage at the injustice of it all, fists clenched at his sides as he glared at Nienna.

Brown eyes filled with even more pity, "_We have no jurisdiction outside of Arda, little one. We could not send you back even if we so wanted._" Her delicate hand came up and gestured to his body. "_My brothers and sisters and I have instead given you all that you require to prosper in your new home—_"

He cut her off immediately, "_This is __**not**__ my home!_"

"—_including the language we are currently speaking, the form of the longest lived race in Arda, and we are but a day's walk from the home of Thranduil._" She continued on over him, knowing he would hear. Nienna smiled gently at him, "_Your life at the hands of Men was lacking in many ways—_"

"_My life was just fine!_"

"—_so we decided to give you that which your heart desires but is too afraid to ask._" She pointed to the west, "_In that direction lies the closest population. Beware, little prominent one, this wood is dangerous at the best of times. I would travel swiftly._"

Harry saw her turning to leave, and all but growled at her, "_And what am I supposed to tell these people, if I do decide to go there? A stranger showing up out of the middle of nowhere with no story they would believe isn't going to go so well._"

Nienna half-turned back to him, sad smile still in place. "_Even if you tell them nothing, you will be well cared for, child. If it becomes necessary, my family and I will arrange a more believable story. Our debt to Death covers all of this and more. You are well worth the effort. Go and live, little one._" Her words echoed oddly as she vanished through the trees' shadows. "A'ngell nín."

Harry's mind obediently provided the translation: 'please, for my joy' and he scoffed. Like he had any reason to please his kidnapper. But he acknowledged to himself that without provisions he would have to seek out help of some type.

A yelp echoed in that part of the forest as Harry—mind now not focused on an immediate potential threat—found that he had shrunk several inches, his body was more lithe and slender, his hair now straighter and fell a third of the way down his back. His change of clothes could be easily dismissed, but Nienna and her family had apparently also decided that without his consultation to change his species as well, for those were _pointed_ ears on his head! Probably just like hers too.

A quick pat-down confirmed the absence of any wand and Harry had to fight the urge to groan. Once again his life had been changed without his consent and he had no choice. But just because he had no option but to go along with this 'live in Arda' business, did _not_ mean that he would cooperate! With a turn on his heel, Harry went in the easterly direction, the exact opposite that Nienna had pointed.

Besides, in his own personal experience, when one was a bloody child (again!), one was not to trust adults. Seventeen years of trying had led to that revelation and he wasn't about to make the same mistake again. The only adults any child could rely on were their own parents.

Just his luck that his own were dead.

With a resigned sigh, Harry began to make his way through the trees, aiming for the rushing sound of water he could barely hear in the distance.

It didn't take long for the river to be visible—though longer than he thought considering the water had sounded much closer than it actually was. It was a rather large river flowing toward the west. Harry snorted at the instinct to follow the flow and headed upstream. He was _not_ going to give in to that Nienna's suggestions.

He walked beside the river for hours. As the light began to die, he silently thanked Hermione again for her camping supplies all those years ago, and wished she was there now to provide them again. Or her pack that held all the supplies. Harry shook his head and gazed around him. He spied an old oak with a branch about the right height if he jumped and took a running head-start. A bunching of his legs and up he went into the very top branches, as close as he could get to the sky without danger of falling off.

The sun was setting when Harry allowed himself to drift off to sleep, nestled gently against the trunk at the intersection of a branch with his back to the trunk and legs stretched out, arms folded across his chest to keep his fingers warm during the night.

He never saw the branches of his tree sway against the wind, or the branches of the tree next to his, or the one beside it, all in a line to the west with as much speed as a tree can give. He never felt his tree curl a vine around him securely, or the way the trunk caved in ever-so-slightly beneath his back to form a more comfortable chair back. He never saw any of this, even though his eyes never fully closed as he slept.

* * *

King Thranduil frowned as he looked into the east. As the king of Greenwood, he had a very close connection to the forest he and his people protected. It was part of his lineage that he could understand the trees, though they mostly kept to themselves unless asked, occasionally they would voluntarily speak with him. These few times they would carry messages to him were always urgent: an army was marching onto the wood, a hard winter was coming, the animals were being turned not-of-the-forest, etc.

But this time the message was more concerning. According to the trees, an elfling was alone, without provisions or protection, and travelling in the wrong direction. The last elfling Thranduil knew of was his own son, who even now was well past his majority. No other elfling had been born for the past thousand years, in any of the Elven realms. He would have been informed immediately of such glad tidings. However, when he answered the trees message that perhaps they were mistaken, their return of haughty indignation moved him to action.

Thranduil sent a messenger to his son, who was currently on patrol, with the simple command "Follow the trees." Legolas would understand, if he hadn't been already alerted from his own connection to the forest.

* * *

_Can anyone tell me who Thranduil's married to? Her name? I can't find a reference anywhere! Also, does anyone know if elves scar? _

_Please review! Reviews are love!_


	4. Chapter 4 (the real one!)

**The Price of Life**

**Chapter 04: Spellwork**

Almadynis

**AN:** THANK YOU ALL who gave such encouraging words on the rant of last week. To SHuntress for the _awesome_ idea! It will be implemented immediately! *maniacal laugh as searches for box of matches* Also, thank you to those of you who recommended the Encyclopedia of Arda! That website is _wonderful_!

**AN2:** Timeline: before LotR, in the TA (I have no idea if I want to do a 10th Walker…at the moment this is strickly a Harry-actually-gets-a-childhood, no pairings scheduled for _awhile_).

**AN3:** While I did spend a good amount of time early last week learning Sindarin, I am still very much an amateur. If you find a mistake, please copy-paste the line, with what it should be, and why it's wrong. Hopefully I won't make the same mistake in later chapters. I am using J Carpenter's (Xandarian) Sindarin Lessons (V1.6) as well as that website's Sindarin-English dictionary. Thanks for your patience! ((Please keep in mind that for some of these, I am translating from a language other than English (using etymology) into Sindarin where some words don't exist!))

* * *

Harry was walking upstream, the river on his right, as soon as he woke. The river was, quite frankly, huge. Too big to jump across or for downed trees to bridge the gap between banks. The water ran quite quickly, fast enough that if he had to jump in for any reason, he was afraid that his body is no longer capable of fighting the currant enough to keep his head above water, he was just too small. Even if he was an adult, Harry doubted he would be able to fight such a strong current. Thus, he was stuck on this side of the river.

That morning, Harry had found a vine lying across his body fortuitously. The wind had blown the vine in such a way as to further secure his resting place in the tree. A quick climb down and look around had given even more luck for a bush full of what he assumed to be a breed of blackberry was in a nice thicket almost on top of the tree in which he had picked to sleep. How he had missed the berries the night before was probably due to the fading light, but now that he knew they existed—and quite tasty they were too!—he was on the lookout for more bushes of the sweet treat.

His young body was out of shape. At midday—judging by the position of the sun—he was already tired and ready for a rest. Harry sighed. If his apparent age was to be believed, he could be young enough to need naps again. That would be tiresome—pun not intended. So, he walked until he found a nice clearing—they were scattered here and there by the river—and settled down at the base of another nice oak-ish tree.

Never one to be inactive for very long, even as he got older, due to the Dursley's instilling a very nice work-ethic dolloped with the child abuse, Harry allowed himself to rest even as his mind drifted at envying speeds.

_I wonder if I can do magic even without a wand. I could when I was still a wizard…a few spells for wandless magic, though nonverbal magic was much easier. Well, might as well try—_Harry lifted his right hand, palm in a 'stop' gesture aimed at the ground approximately 20 feet in front of him and called out firmly "Stupefy!" Or, well, he tried to. Harry groaned, let his head drop back against the tree, and scowled at the heavens. What had come out of his mouth was not the Stunning Charm—in admittedly bastardized Latin—but some Musical Language—as he was now calling it—equivalent. Which wasn't quite as equivalent as hoped. "Dairi heleg!" meant '_To remain ice!_' as his brain oh-so helpfully translated.

It also had interesting results.

The ground twenty feet away was now coated in a thin layer of quickly-thawing frost and ice. Not even close to the results of a Stunning Charm. Harry wasn't sure if he should cheer that he had magic and could—at least partially—control it without a wand, or curse that he would need to re-learn (at least some) spells. _And how is it that this language doesn't have a word for 'stun'?_

_Well, let's try another. Might as well, especially since wandless spells cost more energy and magic than not. Wonder how many I can cast now that I'm shrunk?_ Harry thought and began again, this time with the more traditional Disarming Charm. "Úrinc hathol!" a red—though not scarlet, more of a maroon—light obediently shot out of his palm to harmlessly hit the grass. '_Remove axe!_' wasn't quite the 'remove weapon' he was looking for. _But it was almost the color of a normal Expelliarmus, maybe I'll need more than one spell for disarming? One for each type of weapon? That'll be bloody annoying! What bloody language doesn't have a word for 'weapon'?!_

Aiming at a dead limb on an elm-looking tree, he tried another spell. "Risto!" For the first time, exactly what he wanted to happen, did. A white light shot out of his palm, hit the branch, and cut it cleanly. Of course, the shout of '_To cut!'_ was an almost identical translation to the Severing Charm. _Does this mean that the only spells I can cast that do what they should are directly translated? This just keeps getting better._ Harry's sarcastic thoughts and evil skyward looks were almost constant.

"Penio naur!" worked just fine but a quickly cast "Eithel!" was an overwhelming small stream of water that drowned the successful fire.

_And now I'm tired. _Harry silently commented as he recognized the effects of magical fatigue. _Whatever age I am now has reduced me down to only five wandless spells. That's half of what I could do! _Harry glared at the sky and shouted "Le egryn bân!" which was not quite the 'you are all evil bastards' that he wanted, but he supposed that '_You are all evil people!_' was as close as he could get.

Bodily and magically slow, Harry looked up at the branches above him, decided they were too far away for the trouble of climbing, and allowed himself to sleep. _Just a few minutes…_

* * *

Legolas had been following the river will all speed he and his scouting party could move through the forest of Mirkwood, only stopping to sleep for the deep-black of the night. They were all up and moving again even before the birds. All of them had silently agreed as soon as Legolas had murmured 'elfling' when the trees had contacted him.

It was unfortunate that they had been on the eastern side of his father's halls in the Woodland Realm. They made all haste to reach the child before any orcs, spiders, or other unpleasantness could find the gift.

Legolas held up a hand to stop his party and strained his ears. Soft, far away calls drifted on the wind and leaves. Definitely a child's voice, but the words were garbled enough he only could make out some "to cut…to set fire…issue of water…"

One of his best friends, Caledhvilui, turned to him with confusion in his eyes. Both wondering what the child could possibly be speaking to or about that would use those combination of words. But either way, Legolas gestured the group forward again and their steps hastened.

Knowing his own limitations for hearing and the land of his birth as well as he did, he knew that the child could be as far as the branching of the Forest River. "Elbereth! If the child drinks from the Enchanted River…" Legolas let his sentence trail off. All three of his companions sped as quickly as they could through the forest, praying to Manwë they reached the little one in time.

* * *

_I know that I keep switching syntax of elvish and english. Assume that the elves are speaking Elvish. Harry has _"blah"_ for his perception that he should be speaking English._

_Also, for those of you who ask...Harry is somewhere around 7 to 8 years old in elvish years. It's the reason I 'killed' him at 40, to keep his young for the change-over._

_Reviews are love!_


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